Chase the Morning
by Namikazi Itachi
Summary: There exists a web of secrets and lies, built over many years. All will be revealed... at the Genetic Opera! Repo! The Genetic Opera AU
1. A Song of Introduction

**Chase the Morning**

Genre: Horror/Romance  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Genderbending, gore, mutilation, character death, sexual scenes, language, abuse (will vary chapter-to-chapter)  
Pairings: Den/Fem!Pru, eventual Den/Fem!Nor, SuFin, various others (will be mentioned chapter-by-chapter)

JUST SO YOU GUYS KNOW, _**THIS IS NOT A RETELLING OF THE MOVIE**_. It _will_ contain certain elements, just for familiarity's sake, though.  
I don't own anything that you recognize.

(And yes, I know, the last bloody thing I need is to be starting another story. Especially when I've not yet finished Tip of the Iceberg. But I've been sitting on this for a couple of months, and I couldn't wait any longer.)

* * *

_**Prologue: A Song of Introduction**_

The year is 2056. Much of the world has fallen into chaos, as mass-spread disease and organ failures have ravaged the planet. Out of the ashes rose a company called GeneCo, which offered affordable organ replacements to those who had suffered organ failure, with payment plans available if necessary; it also offered a type of anesthesia called "zydrate", to numb the pain and make surgery easier and faster.

It quickly grew to employ over 98,000 people in 124 countries, making more money annually than several dozen nations, and effectively running several countries in the meantime.

Eventually, surgery became compulsive, addictive – a brand new set of designer organs! New eyes! A new set of bones! – and most people fell into debt very quickly.

That was when the repossessions, as well as the black market dealings, began.

Those who fell behind on payments were in constant fear of their lives, as the Repossession Men – or "Repo Men", as they became known as – were hired by GeneCo to re-obtain GeneCo's property – by any means necessary.

At roughly the same time, zydrate – which was quickly found to be incredibly addictive – was offered legally for an exorbitant price, which drove men and women to collect the drug in the only way they could – by robbing graves and sucking corpses dry of the substance.

This, of course, was almost immediately outlawed worldwide, with any "Graverobber" caught being punished with death.

Now, Romulus Vargas, founder and owner of GeneCo, is dying. His right hand man, Frederick Scherer, is the only other person who is aware of this fact.

The news of his impending death has forced Vargas to look closely at his three grandchildren, to determine which one would be the most suitable heir to the massive company; thus far, none of them have made the cut. In desperation, Romulus has sent Frederick out to find an heir – using whatever means deemed necessary.

At the same time, a bright young woman named Astrid has moved back into her abusive family home to take care of her dying, Zydrate-addicted sister. A man named Kristoffer robs graves and sells drugs for a living. Two members of a powerful family within GeneCo play a dangerous game with junkies and Repo Men. Roxie Sweet, formerly known as Marion Bonnefoy, changes her looks daily and plots to bring down Prussia Beilschmidt, the star of the _Genetic Opera,_ and take her place; Maria just wants to get out of the limelight, even if that means losing her life.

How are these things all connected? And more importantly, who will inherit GeneCo?

All will be revealed… at the Genetic Opera!

**The Main Players**

Kristoffer Densen – _A Graverobber, a Drunk and a Zydrate Addict; Also known as Konge_

Astrid Bondevik – _A Caring Elder Sister_

Emilia Bondevik – _A Zydrate Addict_

Aksel Bondevik – _Father to Astrid and Emilia; an Accountant at GeneCo_

Freya Bondevik – _Their Deceased Mother_

Linnea Bondevik – _Their Stepmother_

Berwald Oxenstierna – _A Surgeon for GeneCo; Secret Partner to Tino and Adoptive Father of Peter_

Tino Väinämoïnen – _Berwald's Secret Partner; A Repo Man_

Peter Kirkland-Oxenstierna – _Berwald's Adoptive Son, aged 12 ½ _

**GeneCo**

Romulus Vargas – _Owner and Founder of GeneCo_

Frederick Scherer – _Romulus' Right-hand Man; GeneCo's Top Surgeon_

Marion "Amber Sweet" Bonnefoy – _Romulus' Eldest Grandchild, a Zydrate Addict_

Lovino Vargas – _Romulus' Second Eldest Grandchild; Feliciano's Brother; Perpetually Homicidally Angry_

Feliciano Vargas – _Romulus' Youngest Grandchild; Lovino's Brother; Collector of Faces_

Magdalena "Prussia" Beilschmidt – _lead performer at GeneCo's _Genetic Opera

Ivan Braginski – _A Repoman_

**Various Others**

Lars van Rijn – _A Dealer, Graverobber, and Kristoffer's Roommate_

Charlotte van Rijn – _A_ _Zydrate Addict's Anonymous Leader, former addict and Lars' sister_

Natalia Arlovskaya – _A Dealer; Ivan's half-sister_


	2. A Song of Graverobbers and Addicts

**Chase the Morning**

Warnings: Grave desecration, drug use, language, hints of abuse  
Pairings: Hints of Su/Fin, OC/OC

If you'd like to read this elsewhere, it can be found on my tumblr (Lefseandtrolls) or on Ao3 (Scribe_of_Ruse).

* * *

**_Chapter I – A Song of Graverobbers and Addicts_**

The wind whistled ominously through the graveyard just outside of town, blowing dust and ash into the air. Lights occasionally flashed through the tombstones, searching for any sign of living presence. Old signs on the gates warned that anyone caught trespassing at night would be shot on sight – a fact that was, strictly, no longer entirely true, due to lack of a non-GeneCo police force to enforce it. A speaker hanging a few dozen yards away insistently reminded that collecting and buying street zydrate was illegal; to tune into Prussia's final performance in the Genetic Opera; to Vote Yes on Prop 596 and keep organ repossessions legal.

Kristoffer rolled his eyes at the constant barrage of sound, as annoyed at it as he was thankful for the noise cover as he carefully dug up a grave, occasionally ducking down behind the headstone to avoid the searchlights.

He gagged almost silently into the kerchief covering his face as he finally broke through the coffin and hit the corpse, the smell of decaying human flesh washing over him in a wave.

Didn't matter how many years you'd been gravedigging – the smell wasn't something you could _ever_ get used to. He quickly pulled the small catheter and vial system he used to extract zydrate out of his pocket, shoving the catheter up the corpse's nose until he hit what was left of the brain. A bright blue, glowing liquid quickly flowed out into the vial, filling it up in a matter of seconds. He pulled the catheter out, switched out the full vial for an empty one, then stuck it back in the other nostril and watched the second vial fill up to the top.

He swore quietly under his breath in amazement. Two vials from one corpse was a lucky break – the exact one he needed tonight. Most corpses these days didn't give out even a full vial – but… well, this one'd been dead for about 80 years, so maybe that explained it.

Fucking zydrate junkies ruined just about everything. The more you used, the less you gave out, even after letting their corpse decay for a good long time. (There were small blessings, though. His wouldn't ever have enough to be worth stealing from.)

The searchlights flashed through the graveyard again, more brightly this time, signaling that the cops were on their way. Kristoffer dropped the corpse back in what was left of its coffin, making his apologies to long-dead ears and scrambling out of the grave. He quickly shoved the dirt back on top of it, not bothering to do a neat job – properly reburying the corpse would take far too long, and the cops would be on him any minute. He quickly pulled a long blacklight marker out of his pocket, marking the side of the granite tombstone with a heavy 'x' that only other graverobbers would notice or care about. It was a sign that this one had already been used, and not to bother digging it back up.

It was getting harder and harder to find gravestones without them.

He paused momentarily before getting up, making sure the lights were facing away from him as he booked it out of the graveyard, hopping lightly over the fence like it was nothing, and calmly walking back to his apartment, hands shoved in his pockets and whistling merrily the whole way back.

Astrid sighed in irritation as she kicked off her shoes and walked up the stairs, the voices of her stepmother and some of her many friends floating up after her from the living room. She ran up the stairs as silently as she could, not wanting to draw attention to herself, and walked down the darkened corridor, dropping her bag just in the doorway of her room and knocking politely on her sister's doorway.

"Door's open," Emilia called out, her voice shaking slightly.

"Hey, Emmy. How did your appointment go? I'm really sorry I couldn't be there –" Astrid apologized as she entered and closed the door behind herself.

"No, you're not. That would have meant being in the same room with dad for a long time," Emilia said bluntly, scooting up out of the covers.  
"I wish I could've been there _instead_ of father, then. Happy?"

"N-no."

"Right, of course. Still doesn't answer my question, though. How did it go?"

Emilia shrugged slightly, wrapping her arms around herself. "F-fine, I guess? They s-said that they can try that new procedure – that one where they leech the drug out of your brain and r-replace all your organs? It's still kinda experimental and everything, but apparently they got a 83% success rate for it."

"That means there's a 17% rate of failure," Astrid said distastefully, perching lightly on the end of her sister's bed. "What did dad say about it?"

"He s-said that it'd be okay. Better than havin' me s-stuck in here, attached to all these wires and s-shit," Emilia complained, holding up one slightly shaking needle-laded arm.

"I'm pretty sure that's not the words he used. And… _really_? He gave his approval for that. Isn't it like… insanely expensive?"

"They're n-not, but they're the ones I'm using. And yeah, it is, but it's better than me dyin', Tri! I-I'm only 17, I'm too young to die!"

"You don't think I don't know that, Em? I don't want you to die either. I'm just… kind of surprised he gave his approval for it. He doesn't normally think of anybody but himself."

"Th-that's not fair, Tri. Just because he doesn't like what you do doesn't mean he doesn't think about anybody but himself," Emilia declared, reaching over for her glass of water with a trembling hand.

"He doesn't give a rat's ass what I do. To him, I'm a failure. Don't you remember? Now, how long's it been since your last shot of zydrate?" Astrid demanded, watching her sister's violet eyes swim in and out of focus.

"S-six and a half hours… but, I'll be okay, Tri. R-really. I promise."

"Bullshit. That's _good_ for you. Way better than you normally manage. Where'd you put the gun?"

"B-bottom drawer of my dresser, but the doctors say I need to be weaned off it anyway!" Emilia protested, shaking her head.

"Yeah, _weaned_ off of it, not immediately quitting cold-turkey. How long do you have until the surgery, anyway?"  
"A m-month, b-but dad said he wouldn't get any more for me, and I've only got like, five shots left, and I don't have the money to go get more," she whined, biting her lip as if that would stave off the addiction and stop the craving entirely.

"Look, I'll talk to him, okay? Try and make him change his mind. If that doesn't work, I'll get it for you myself, okay? We can't risk you dying before you even get to surgery," Astrid stated blandly, her mind racing at the thought as she got up to get her sister's zydrate gun.

"No, don't do that! He's getting a new liver or something, and Linnea's getting new eyes, and we can't afford my surgery and theirs _and_ my zydrate addiction. Not unless I become the new face of GeneCo after Prussia's last performance or something, and there's no way that would ever happen."

Astrid snarled quietly at that, rolling her eyes and gritting her teeth in frustration and anger.

"Astrid, _don't_. I know y-you don't like it, but it's… y'know, _normal_. Everybody does it."

"His liver is _perfectly functional_. And so are her eyes! They don't need new ones. Besides, he's our _father_. He should care more about us than he does himself and his precious _wifey_. The only reason he's keeping you alive is because you might be able to be of some use to him in the future."

"Astrid, th-that's _mean_."

"Big deal. There are proper ways of getting over someone's death, and surgery after surgery isn't one of them."

"Well, y-you could at least b-bother _pretending_ that y-you approve."

"But I _don't_. They care more about being 'designer' than they do about us. That's not really something I can ever approve of, Em," she said as gently as she could, holding up the zydrate gun. "Now, where do you want the shot?"

Emilia held out her left arm, continuing to bite her lip agitatedly as Astrid fired the gun, then got up and proceeded to stash it away again.

"There. That better?"

"Ah, _yeah_," Emilia sighed gratefully, wobbling slightly as the drug quickly took hold.

"That's good. Perfect. I'm going to go and try to talk dad into getting you more, okay? And if he won't… I'll – I'll get it for you myself," Astrid said reassuringly, trying to quell her own panic by smoothing her sister's chin length hair down as Emilia sank down into her pillows with a euphoric look on her face.

"Mmm… 'kay. Don' like you doin' it… bu' g'luck, I guess…" Emilia slurred, the zydrate already having her firmly in its clutches as it snaked through her veins. Astrid tucked her sister into bed, placing a gentle kiss on her little sister's forehead before leaving.

She fled downstairs quickly before she could resolve not to, standing in front of her father's office door. A sudden burst of laughter escaped from behind the door, making her jump back in what could only be considered paranoia.

Just how many people _were _her parents entertaining today?

She snuck over to the living room door, pulling it open just slightly enough that she could look inside without being noticed by anyone. She could just barely spy her stepmother, Anna, Katya, and Natalia Braginskaya, as well as Tino Väinämöinen and Peter Kirkland-Oxenstierna sitting on the collection of chairs and having tea and biscuits.

It was an odd collection of guests to be having over, to say the least – the Braginski family was infamous for its cruelty and ruthlessness, with rumors about Ivan's night job floating around their family like jellyfish. Väinämöinen was seemingly harmless, but he was rarely separated from his roommate Berwald. And gossip had it that he, like Ivan, was a Repo Man.

To Astrid, their presence could only mean one thing – her father was trying to marry her off into wealthy, untouchable families to get more money.

Again.

It hadn't gone well the last three times they'd tried it.

She turned back to her father's office, knocking politely on the door. She jumped back as it flung open, revealing a room full of large men and cigar smoke.

"Ah, Astrid! The lady of the hour. I was just about to call you downstairs. Come in, come in," Aksel said warmly, ushering her inside with one arm firmly around her.

"Dad, we need to talk about Em –"

"Not _now_, dear. Perhaps after our guests have left," he said quietly, digging his fingers into her arm warningly.

"But, dad –"

"_Not right now_. Now, be polite and say hello," he commanded, his voice soft and warning in her ear.

She bit back a growl of frustration, choosing instead smiling politely at the three other men occupying her father's office.

"Hello," she said coolly, all while seething internally. "What brings you here today?"

"Aksel, surely you told her? It's her future, after all," Dr. Braginski stated, humour colouring his deep voice as he grinned wryly.

"I did, but she's probably forgotten. Silly thing has her head in the clouds more often than not."

The two older men and Ivan had a good laugh at that, Berwald not even cracking a smile. Astrid resisted the urge to take one of the antique swords off of the wall and shove it through all three of their chests, even as her father sat her down into the chair next to his desk.

"Astrid, my dear girl. We're here to discuss you, and what… _assets_ you can bring us," Dr. Braginski said, looking her over with a borderline lecherous eye. "Now, is it true that you recently graduated from university with a perfect grade point average?"

Astrid looked at him blankly, hiding her disgust beneath her long-since-perfected poker face. "If by recently, you mean three years ago… then, yes, sir, I did."

"Three years ago? You would have been… how old?"

"20. I started Uni when I was 16."

"Very impressive! You never told me she was so intelligent, Aksel. We would've been here a lot sooner if you had."

"I simply thought… that you should see her for yourself," he lied smoothly, placing a hand on Astrid's shoulder in warning as she twitched her whole body in protest.

"She's… very impressive," Ivan said slowly, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. "May I just say that whoever did your face and eyes is a magician with the scalpel? And the rest of you… it hardly looks like you've had surgery at all."

"That would be because I haven't," she said bluntly.

"Not at all?"

"No. It's a waste of money and other people's talent, to have surgery when you don't need it. Why risk getting addicted to surgery, to zydrate – to having a Repo Man come for you, if you fall behind on payments – for something that's almost never visible? It's not worth it, in my opinion."

"_Astrid,_" Aksel gasped, looking at his daughter as though she was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen. Which, in a way… she _was_.

"No, no, Aksel, she's made a good point," Dr. Braginski said, waving him off. "Not enough to change most people's minds, but still. It's… admirable. Honorable, even."

"'S an interestin' point. Good, th't not every'ne thinks th't way, or we'd all be out of a job," Berwald said quietly, eliciting a round of laughter from the other three men. Astrid rolled her eyes, not finding it humorous in the slightest. Aksel took another puff of his cigar, looking Berwald over.

"I think we've heard enough, dear. Maybe you should go check on your sister?" Aksel suggested lightly, tightening his grip on her shoulder once more as if to tell her _get the hell out before you embarrass us all even further_.

Astrid didn't need to be told twice. She walked calmly out of his office, shutting the door behind her. She then ran up the stairs, a sudden burst of tears threatening to overwhelm her.

She grabbed her bag, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her as she flung it down and collapsed onto her bed, attempting to choke back her sobs and constantly wiping her eyes of tears.

There was no chance in hell that Aksel would change his mind about the zydrate now. Not after she'd publicly embarrassed him like that.

She let herself cry for another fifteen minutes before pulling herself back together, double-checking her makeup for smears before heading back downstairs.

She'd timed it just perfectly – their guests were just starting to leave. Väinämöinen waved politely at her as he dragged Peter out the door. Natalia spared only the slightest passing glare, and Katya was in a drug-induced haze – still floating on the aftereffects of _her_ last shot of zydrate.

"It was nice seeing you again, Astrid," Ivan said as he followed his mother and father out the door. Astrid simply gave a small wave in return, her voice not quite back to normal after crying.

Her father glared at her as he ushered the Braginski family out, clearly displeased with her.

Berwald approached her almost silently, gently touching her on the wrist. She whipped around, shocked that she hadn't heard him approaching. "Can I talk to ya? Al'ne?" he asked quietly, adjusting his glasses in a nervous manner.

"Uhm, sure, right this way," she said with a still-shaking voice, walking towards the living room. He followed her, signaling to Tino that he would be out in a few minutes time. "What exactly were you looking to talk about, Berwald?"

"Wanted ta let y' know that yer father offered yer hand in marriage t' me."

Astrid sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I figured he would. It was only a matter of time."

"Turned 'im down. No offense meant, but… yer not 'xactly m' type. Jus' thought yeh sh'ld know."

"Well, uhm, thanks, I guess?" she asked, fidgeting slightly under Berwald's harsh gaze.  
"Don't think I can trust yeh with th't kinda information."

"Okay, that's fair," she admitted. "Uhm, one more thing before you go?"

"Sure."

"Do you…" Astrid paused, chewing on her lower lip nervously. "Do you know where to get zydrate? I don't really care about legality. I just need to know where I can get it. The cheaper the better."

Berwald gave her a surprised look. "Thought you didn't do that kind of thing."

"It's not for me."

"Who's it for, th'n?"  
"I don't think I can trust you with that sort of information," Astrid said, shaking her head slightly.

"Is it fer yer sister?"

Astrid nodded reluctantly after a moment.

"Sh'dn't be tellin' yeh this. Yer father w'ld kill me, if he knew I was tellin' ya. But… there's a dealer. Operates on Prince and West 83rd. He's a j'ckass, but he's fair. D'n't tell 'im I sent yeh, though, or he'll jack the price up."

"A dealer? Y-you mean, like –"

"A Gr'verobber. Yeah," he said slowly, nodding slightly.

"H-how do _you_ know a graverobber? I mean, you're. Well. A surgeon for GeneCo."

"Peter needed th' drug. He was b'rn addicted. An' even surgeons don't make enough t' support that kinda habit legally."

"Oh. I'm sorry…"

"Not yer fault. Anyw'y, he calls himself Konge_. _'S about 6'5'', wi' long, dirty blond hair, an' he's c'nstantly covered 'n mud. He doesn't much l'ke me, but ye'll pr'bably have better luck with him. He's fair if it kills 'im, though, an' he's got a weakness for pretty girls."

Astrid blushed heavily at that, unused to such compliments. "So, West 83rd and Prince?"

"Yeah. He usually sh'ws up there ar'nd 11 or so. Jus'… promise me ye'll be careful?" he asked, looking at her with concern.

"I wouldn't be anything but," she said confidently. "Thank you, Berwald, _so_ much. I really –"

"D'n't say it. C'nsider it advice fr'm one friend t' another. No fav'rs owed th't way."

"Well, thank you anyway. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"Think I've got s'me idea. See you ar'nd," he said kindly, giving her a small wave as he walked out the door.

Astrid quickly fled back upstairs before her parents could confront her, her head reeling with plans for payment. There was little else she could do until 11, after all.

* * *

**__****NOTES:**  
All of the information about and effects of zydrate are made up. I took what very little information they had on the wiki and combined it with my perhaps too-extensive knowledge of anesthetics.

Most backstory for any character can be supplied on request via PM. If I can't tell you, I'll simply answer "spoilers".

Hope you enjoyed!


	3. A Song of Little Glass Vials and Payment

**Chase the Morning**

Warnings: drug use, language  
Pairings: Hints of Su/Fin, OC/OC

If you'd like to read this elsewhere, it can be found on my tumblr (Lefseandtrolls) or on Ao3 (Scribe_of_Ruse).

* * *

**_Chapter II – A Song of Little Glass Vials and Payment_**

Kristoffer shivered visibly as the wind picked up; hating how fucking _cold_ the city got at night, no matter what the season. He debated silently about giving himself a shot of zydrate, just to make himself numb enough to ignore the cold, but… no. He needed every little bit of his wits about him. No point risking robbery and hypothermia for a little fix.

Just as some distant church bell rang out that it was 11:30, his addicts came crawling out of their buildings. Fifteen of them tonight, if the little light provided by the incredibly filthy streetlight was showing all of them.

They all ran up to him excitedly and started pawing at his coat for the drugs – it had been a couple of days since he'd hit this neighborhood, so they were probably itching for a fix. Luckily he'd had the foresight to pull out his zydrate gun, which he now held over his head to avoid it getting crushed.

"So, whaddaya got for us today, your majesty?" a redheaded girl with bright green skin asked him, grinning at him hungrily.

"The same thing I _always_ got, Delia. Ya really thought it was gonna change?"

"Well, there's a new dealer, a couple blocks down on Adams Street and 85th? Who's started dealing some of the old drugs…" the girl pouted, backing off slightly.

_That_ wasn't good news. New dealers meant more competition, which meant less cash. And if he was selling the old standbys – heroin, crack, Special K… that could put him out of business.

"Sweetie, I woulda letcha know if I started dealing those. What's he calling himself? I might have to have a little chat with him. It ain't real safe to be dealing those in this parta town."

"Her. She calls herself Icey. She's been dealing for a couple'a weeks now," another girl piped up.

"Well, I still might haveta have a chat with her. Now, who's up first?" he asked brightly, hiding his inner shock at the news of a female dealer, grinning as the girls started pleading and offering their cash towards him. He took it from them gratefully; sticking the gun against whatever body part they had visible for him.

The last girl came up to him, looking up at him sadly through her lashes. "I don't have all the cash for it tonight – can we –"

He shook his head sadly. "Sorry, doll. Cash only t'night and tomorra. I gotta make rent, y'know?"

"Please, Konge? I've got most of it…"

"Not t'night. Try again next in the next couple'a days, all right?" he said, shrugging slightly in apology.

The girl slunk off, looking clearly disappointed. That was probably another one lost to a different dealer, but it wasn't _his_ fault that Lars had to go and spend half their rent money on booze and weed.

He sighed quietly as he put his zydrate gun away, shoving a hand through his too-long hair to keep his fringe from falling into his face. A tiny flash of something silver caught his eye as he checked his zydrate stash (4 full vials left, with another one 3/4 full). He looked up, peering into the darkness, noticing another girl lurking near some of the bins just a few feet away.

"Yo, sweetheart, I can't shoot'cha up if ya just keeping hidin' over there," he called over as loudly as he dared to, pulling his gun back out."

The girl jumped in shock, upsetting two of the bins. "W-who says I _want_ to be shot up?" she demanded with a trembling voice as she stepped out of the shadows, clutching a smallish box to her (not inconsiderably sized) chest.

She was very clearly not from this part of town – her heavy wool coat, as well as her faintly accented and extremely proper English suggested that she was from the upper class, the silver cross around her neck said she was from old money – possibly before the rise of GeneCo, old. She was tiny – no more than 5'3" at the most – brunette, and incredibly pale, which meant she either worked for GeneCo in a high up position or had someone who paid the bills for her, so she never had to go outside.

She also had none of the addict's signs, which meant one thing and one thing only – she was a junkie's pet. And she was here to pick up more zydrate for her master.

He swore under his breath, sliding his gun back into his coat. "If you ain't here to get shot up, then what're you doing in this part'a town, Princess? You're clearly not from around here."

She looked around nervously, as if the searchers were going to show up at any given second, before answering carefully. "Berwald Oxenstierna sent me this way. He said you'd be the fairest dealer, so… I figured it be worth it to try to find you."

He growled at that. Oxenstierna seemed to send all of his junkie pals – or their pets – to him. Not that the increased cash wasn't great – or the sex, when they couldn't pay immediately – but it was getting pretty goddamned difficult to constantly get more zydrate.

At any rate, the Fuzz were starting to suspect that he was up to something. And if they caught wind of what he was doing… well. That meant no more zydrate for a lot of people.

"Eh, I guess he's right. How much you lookin' to get?"

"Two vials," she said, fiddling with the box in her gloved hands.

He let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head. "No fuckin' _way_. How long ago did they let you outta the tower, Princess? If you think you're getting any more than a vial, you're more naïve than I thought."

"This should make it worth your while," she stated, offering the box to him. He took it, looking at her suspiciously as he opened it. Inside was a zydrate gun. The Z1400. It wasn't the latest model to come out of GeneCo's lineup, but it was still in the packaging.

It was the kind of thing that would gain a person a small fortune if they sold it on the black market. And she was just going to give the damn thing _away_.

"Do you have any idea of how much something like this is worth?" he asked lowly, attempting to stare her down.

"Yes; upwards of $3000 on the black market. More than enough to cover two vials," she said, quirking an eyebrow delicately and staring right back, her eyes glinting violet in the dim glow of the street light.

"Holy _shit,_ Princess! They really did just let you outta the tower, didn't they?" he asked rhetorically, shaking his head at her. "Look. I can't take it. It's worth way more 'n two bottles of street zydrate, and there ain't no way in hell I'm gonna be in debt to some upper-class Princess who's got no idea what she's doing."

"So don't consider it debt. I know my sister has a considerable amount of money owed to you. Consider it payment for that."

He shook his head. "No. Don't know who your sister is, an' I don't trust you enough to do that. And _you_ shouldn't trust me enough to do that. It's cash, sex, 'r no drugs at all. End'a story."

"Fine. Will you take collateral?" she demanded, looking up at him frantically, blushing visibly. Embarrassment and panic came off of her in waves.

He pulled a face at the suggestion, but shrugged very slightly. "It ain't ideal, but I suppose there's no other option. It better not be that gun, though."

"Right, of course," she sighed, still blushing, as she reached behind her and unfastened the choker from around her neck. "Will this suffice?" she asked, offering it to him.

He took it from her, turning it over carefully. It looked kind of familiar – being that it was very old and very delicately wrought, but still a simple enough thing that it stuck in your memory. It looked like it should be in a museum, not around some girl's neck.

"How much 's'it worth?"

"I don't really know. It was my mother's. And her mother's before that."

"Family heirloom, then. Should work jus' fine. You'll come back for this. It'll do," he said grudgingly, pulling two of the vials out of his pocket and handing them to her. "If you ain't back by tomorrow with the cash, I'm pawnin' it off. Understood?"

"Of course, _your majesty," _she replied, making it sound more of an insult than a title. "I wouldn't dare dream of returning without proper payment. What's the worth of a lowly Princess to a _King_, after all?" she asked mockingly, glaring up at him.

"I can take away those vials, y'know," he said threateningly, not appreciating her mockery.

"And I can get my necklace back, and you won't make nearly as much as you need to in order to make rent. And you called me the stupidly naïve one," she said bitingly, walking away with the vials tucked safely away in her front coat pocket and holding the zydrate gun box in both hands.

He growled once more at that, shoving the necklace into his pocket and began the long trek back to his flat on 102nd.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Astrid let herself into the house as quietly as possible, wincing as the door squeaked loudly. She snuck up the stairs, shoving the Z1400 box in front of her door before entering her sister's room.

"Astrid?" Emilia asked sleepily, sitting up slightly. "What – what're you doing? It's like… one in the morning. Why're you still dressed?"  
"I went out to get you these," Astrid said as she pulled the vials out, offering them over to her sister as carefully as she could.

Emilia stared at them as if she'd never seen them before. "Astrid, what – no, _how _did you get those? Daddy said I couldn't have any more. And what happened to Mama's necklace?" Emilia demanded, the machines around her beeping frantically as she became more panicked.

"I – I got them myself, from a dealer out on Prince Street –"

"You _went to a dealer_?" Emilia shrieked, forcing Astrid to place a hand over her mouth.

"It's nothing you haven't done before, Emilia. Don't try to lie to me. I've seen the IOU's in your drawer," Astrid said menacingly, glaring fiercely at her little sister.

"I – I know, but you didn't – who'd you even go to? And why'd you give up Mama's cross? Daddy will notice that it's gone for sure."

"Which is why I'm avoiding him tomorrow. I put it up as collateral, because the idiot wouldn't take my zydrate gun as payment for those."

"You _willingly_ took off Mama's necklace. And you gave it to some crazy douchebag who robs _graves_ for a living for collateral?"

"I do believe I just said that, Emilia," Astrid said coldly. "Yes, I took it off. He wouldn't take the gun. I'm bringing him cash tomorrow. It's not a big deal, Em. Can't you just be happy I got you more zydrate?"

"No! That cross is one of the few things we have left of her, and you just gave it up as if it was nothing to you!"

"Yeah, so what? Compared to you staying alive, it _is_ nothing! This drug is the only thing keeping you functional right now, and you're far more precious to me than a necklace is. So, yes, I took it off. And I _would do it again._ I'll drain my bank account if I have to, but I am _not going to let you die_, Em! You're – you're all I've got left, and I just – I can't lose you, okay?" Astrid said desperately, her voice shaking violently as she tried to keep herself from crying.

"Tri – oh, god, Tri, _please_ don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't – I mean I guess I knew, I'm just – god, I'm so sorry," Emilia apologized frantically, hugging her sister tightly. "I'm glad you got it for me, really. I just – I wish you hadn't gone to a street dealer. They're not really… _safe_."

"He wasn't too bad," Astrid sniffed, hugging Emilia back. "Completely condescending, but other than that, not too bad. I've already got a nickname from him."

"You went to Konge, then, didn't you?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"He's got a habit of nicknaming his girls. I was 'kiddo'."

"That's _awful._ He kept calling me _Princess_, though. Said I was stupid and naïve."

"Yeah, that sounds like him. And, no offense, but you kind of _are_."  
"Shut up. I know I am, but he didn't need to keep pointing it out every five seconds."

"He obviously thought he did. Anyway, thank you for getting it for me. Can you put it away with the rest of the stuff?" Emilia requested, finally breaking away from Astrid.

"You sure that's a good idea? What if dad checks?"

"He won't. He never does."

"He will, if he thinks you're still using when you're supposed to be quitting cold turkey."

"He _won't notice_. He's too wrapped up in GeneCo and Linnea to pay attention to us."

"If you say so…" Astrid said skeptically. She took the vials off the bed, tucking them into a specially made compartment in the bottom drawer of her sister's dresser.

"I do say so. Now go to bed. You've got to be exhausted by now," Emilia said, looking over at Astrid tiredly.

"Not really. I'm still kind of running on adrenaline. But good night, Emmy."

"G'night, Tri."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Kristoffer let himself into his flat almost silently, shutting the door behind him and clicking all four locks (plus the deadbolt) shut.

"So, how's tricks?" Lars asked, not looking up from his book.

"Fine," Kris said, shucking his coat and boots off and collapsing onto his filthy mattress.

"Ah. Long night, then," Lars stated bluntly, opening up their tiny fridge and throwing Kris a beer.

"Ain't they all?" Kris pondered, cracking the beer open and taking a long drink from it. "God. T'night was worse than usual, though. Oxenstierna sent another junkie's pet to me. Fucking asshole."

"Hey, hey, we _like_ the junkie's pets. They have no idea what they're doing, so they pay more. How much you get offa her?"

"Nothin', yet. She tried t' pass off a zydrate gun – the Z1400. _No_ idea who she stole the damn thing from, but it was still in the packaging."

"Dude. Why the hell didn't you take it? You need a new one."

"Mine works _fine_. Besides, it's worth way more than two bottles of Z."

"Your honor code surrounding this sort of thing is shitty. If she offers it again, _take it_. At least we know she'll be back for more, that way."

"I _ain't gonna take it_!" Kris protested loudly. "Anyway, have you heard about this new dealer selling down on 87th?"

"There's a new dealer? _Fuck_. Where's he getting his stash from?"  
"Nobody knows where _she's_ getting her stash from – all we know is that she's dealing the old drugs, along with Zydrate. I talked to at least 8 different people, and nobody has any clue where she's getting it."

Lars stared at him in horror. "A female dealer. With heroin and crack and shit?"

"Yeah. 'S real bad news. We might need to find a new part'a town."

"No way. Prince and 83rd has been good to us. Plus, Charlie's support group is what, two blocks away? We're stickin' with it. So, anyway, back to this girl of yours. You just let her go without getting anything from her?"

Kris scowled at his roommate, rolling his eyes. "I ain't _stupid_, Lars. I got this off'a her," he said, pulling the necklace out of his shirt pocket.

Lars furrowed his brow at it. "Isn't that… what's her name. The really tiny, super pale one with purple eyes and silver hair. Emily's?"

Kris took a second look at it. "Nah. Kiddo's had something pretty similar I think, but this… god. Y'should've seen this girl, Lars. She looks like she just escaped outta some fairytale. Acts like it too. Now that I think of it, she did look kinda like a… more coloured version 'a Kiddo, I guess. Dunno. But she's bringin' the cash tomorrow."

"She better. Rent's due in two days."

"I _know._ It's your fault we don't have the cash for it right now, dipshit."

"Fuck off. You didn't complain when you were high."

"That's 'cause I was _high_. But I ain't anymore, and now we've got two days to make $600."

"How much did you make off the rest of the girls?"

"$250 – there were only 10 of 'em, an' I had to turn one away. Even if all of them come back tomorrow, we're still a hundred bucks short."

"Well, let's hope your little princess comes back with enough for a legal vial or two, then."

Kris finished the last of his beer, flopping against the mattress and pulling his thin blanket over himself. "Yeah, kinda hopin' so too. But she ain't _my_ Princess. Don't need no junkie's pet followin' me around. Got enough birds that I don't want surroundin' me anyway."

"Right. 'Cause you've got _Maria_. Never mind the fact that you haven't seen her in months."

"Shut _up_, Lars. She's just – busy."  
"Yeah, busy whoring herself out for GeneCo."

"Fuck off."

"Whatever, Kris. I'm just saying."

"And I'm just saying that you should _fuck. Off._"

"Okay, okay! God, you're pissy tonight. G'night, asshole," Lars said irritably, clicking off the one little light in between their beds and sending their small flat into complete darkness.

* * *

A/N: I have no idea how actual drug deals work, and wasn't about to go find out.

Pretty sure this is evident.

I think I'll keep Tuesdays as an update day? We'll see.


End file.
